It must be a late day in a hot summer by the time blood runs cold. Here, at the infancy of winter, it warmed her like a blanket. The frosty steel of her old dirk adopted some of the warmth of the man in which it was buried. She could say nothing of him as he died. He wasn’t an odd-looking man, nor a particularly battled soldier. He had a single scar, just below his twitching eye, which told of some experience in a fight, not that it could have helped him here. Was he a father? A brother? Almost certainly, he was a son. Now though, because of her, he was a warm blanket of blood.

  Ashtik tucked the corpse away in some dusty crevasse. Her two comrades entered the building at her back.

  “Good kill,” Ahn whispered. It was. Had it been a deer, she’d have been proud of the swiftness and delicacy of the dispatch. But it was no dear, and she was not proud. Strangely enough, nor was she ashamed. An absence filled her, an apathy towards her own murder. She, instead, filled the hole where remorse ought to have been with a singular focus. The mission, the task, the thousand corpses that this day would bring.

  “Let's move,” she whispered.

  Atop a tower of fir and stone, Ash looked out to her foe’s little empire. She could see from this elevated position, her own army. Each man fluttered in the distance by their little torchlight. There were more of them now. The king’s entire personal guard must have arrived. Not enough for a siege of any kind, but plenty enough to burn the city.

  “There,” Nuk whispered. He pointed out towards a distant wooden shack atop the ancient stone walls. A massive detachment of soldiers worked feverishly to reinforce it. A path of destruction lay behind them where they had cannibalised their own houses and buildings for lumber and stone. They erected massive pillars to hold shut the section of wall beneath the shack. She realised that it was the gatehouse they sought.

  “How are we supposed to get in there?” Ash stressed.

  “With the grace of the gods,” Nuk answered.

  “The gods will not fight for us, that’s why we brought the steel.” Ash turned to her silent third and asked her opinion with a pleading gaze.

  “Who want ta live forever anyway?” Ahn quietly scoffed. “Ya gods might no take them down, but I be knowin’ what will.” She pulled free a little black leather pouch from behind her shield.

  “What is that?” Ash asked.

  “Phoenix ash,” Nuk whispered, slightly awed.

  “Oh...” A flood of memories caught Ash. Burning men, boiling men, dying men. The screams, choked out by fire in their lungs. The raw heat pulsing from the few poor bastards who made it a few meters from her. It was a crime she had committed before, a horror enacted in the name of desperation, but it was not something she had ever wished to repeat.

  “We set the gatehouse alight, give Tuyen a chance to blow the whole wall down,” Nuk planned.

  “Give it to me,” Ash ordered, her gaze unfixed and unsettled.

  “Ya sure, birdie? This no cute way ta die,” Ahn whispered.

  Ash held her natural hand out expectantly, “I know.”

  “Do ya?”

  There was no spoken answer needed. Ahn could see the old green pyre in Ash’s amethyst eyes. She could hear the screaming of the lost souls and the boys begging for death in her every bated breath.

  “Right,” Ahn nodded with something close to approval. She placed the sack into Ash’s hand without an ounce of delicacy and Ash quietly stowed it on her belt.

  “We still need to get close enough to throw it,” Nuk interrupted.

  “I can handle that,” Ash declared. “The rooftops. They’re close enough together to climb between. It should be even easier than jumping between trees.”

  “Ya might be dainty enough for that, but I no. I be fallin’ straight through the roof fore’ ya can tell me ta hush up,” Ahn scoffed. She shot a glance to Nuk, who was clearly no better equipped than her for such a task.

  “You don’t need to. I’ll handle it.”

  “What about us?” Nuk insisted. “Do you expect us to simply stay here?”

  “No... I expect you to push towards the keep.”

  “What?” the two of them croaked in unison.

  “I thought you changed your mind about that,” Nuk said, lowering his tone again.

  “You don’t need to go in, just find a soft spot while I deal with the gatehouse. We can meet up once the fire starts. Hopefully, it causes enough chaos for us to slip through without notice.”

  “I not know if ya crazy or stupid, but ya certainly ain’t right in ya head,” Ahn steamed.

  “We have a job, Champion. You agreed to this,” Nuk insisted.

  Ash nodded, “Yes, I did, and I intend to complete the mission. Once I do, I will rejoin you and complete the next mission.” She dragged her eyes between the disgusted gaze of the shield maiden and the pious warrior with his gentle leer. “You have your orders,” she finally said with as much confidence as she could fake.

  “Yes, Champion,” Nuk reluctantly saluted.

  “No,” Ahn spat.

  “Ahn-” Nuk tried to urge.

  “-No. I won't will throw ma life away for this here child.”

  “Then don’t,” Nuk sighed. “I am following my orders. You can help me or abandon me – regardless of the Champion. It’s up to you what you want to do.”

  She grunted and thrashed a hand against the steel of her shield. “Ya a damn fool, Nuk. Fine. Ya wanna die, then I die with ya.” She shot one final, hate-filled, glance towards Ash before descending the tower.

  “Good luck, Champion,” Nuk said as he took his first step down. He didn’t look her in the eyes as he said it, instead affixing his gaze to the distant gatehouse. “Gods be with you.”

  It was higher up than she had realised, but not nearly as high as some of the silverwoods she had climbed when hunting dart-tailed hawks with her father. She stepped over the wooden guardrail and took a deep breath of the open night air.

  There was something on it, a scent of something... powerful. The power in her hand crackled a little. Just enough that it reminded her that the hand was not her own any longer. She traced a steel finger over the mouldy old wood and snorted as she noticed the deep searing burns she left in her finger’s wake.

  She let the night air go as she slipped from the tower. Slowly, with the grace of a falling star, she embraced gravity. The wind didn’t rush by her, it didn’t whip her hair all around nor did it tear the air from her lungs. It stroked her cheeks with a cool caress, it kept her aloft, where the world wanted to drag her down. It sought to find her a home on the far side of the greater moon. But a gentle caress cannot beat gravity.

  She ripped out her hand and caught a rung of the tower, swinging herself outwards and landing with a graceful roll atop an adjacent rooftop. The green tiles barely seemed to notice that she had disturbed their sleep. The little birds that nested in the corner welcomed her as a strange guest, though she didn’t accept their offer of staying for a late-night snack.

  She pounced on. Torches burnt beneath the next house, but the bearers were much too busy scanning the streets to pay what must have been an alley cat atop the roof any mind. She bound onwards and onwards, never making any more noise than the very beat of her heart, until she came upon a street. The gap was too great to cross, so she went around, hoping to find some kind of crossover.

  It came eventually in the form of a set of scaffoldings. She spent a step in the shadowed dirt before rising again on the other side. Now, the goal was but a breath away. A breath taken as she bound over the last of the building, and a breath shed as the cannibalised building failed to hold her weight.

  Less now the grace of a falling star, and more so the grace of a drunken buffoon. She clattered and banged through the thin layer that had remained as a roof in the hollow husk of the building. She fell quickly, slamming against a wooden beam and splintering it in an instant. Its remaining shards sprinkled around her as she thudded upon the hay flooring.

  Ash dragged a couple of ragged breaths down. It was a battle to do so, the fall had knocked the wind from her and left her with the feeling that she had broken a rib, at least. She looked up in a daze and noticed first, the wooden shard that had torn through her right palm. The steel had only covered the back of her hand, the leather at her palm had clearly been insufficient in protecting her.

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  With a terrible - gargling - effort, Ash rose to her knees. She spent a moment simply trying to steady her breath while she held her injured hand tightly.

  “What the fuck was that?” someone called from outside the house.

  “A thief?” guessed a woman.

  “Shit, guards over here!”

  It wouldn’t be fair to call her conscious at this point. She wasn’t. She was awake, but not aware. A mix of shock and pain stripped her of all functions beyond survival, and those words had triggered that function in an instant. She rolled away as the door slammed open. The three men who entered must have seen nothing but a burst of dust.

  She hid beneath a box in a dank corner of the house while one guard secured the doorway and the other two searched for her.

  “Look,” the eldest-looking guard whispered. He pointed up, towards the hole in the ceiling and the path of destruction that lay beneath.

  “Are there any other exits?” a bearded guard asked.

  “No, I used to come here all the time,” the guard in the doorway answered. “Whoever this was is still in here... somewhere.”

  The eldest man took some slow steps towards her. They were targeted, direct. He didn’t wander or meander, instead moved directly towards where she hid. Ash held her breath as he inched closer and closer.

  “Blood,” he called out. A streak must have been left atop the box as Ash pushed it atop of herself.

  “Some down here too! Must have hurt themselves during the fall,” the bearded guard called from her landing zone.

  He edged closer, his blade pointed true.

  “It looks like they came this way,” the eldest called. “There’s too much blood here.”

  He was an inch from her at this point, inspecting the boxes above her own. His foot kicked dust into her face as she struggled to keep absolutely silent. Then, in a fatefully slow movement, his fingers wrapped around the rim of her hiding place. She didn’t wait for him to lift the lid and expose her, instead, she burst out with her dirk in hand.

  “Aah!” the guard cried as she piled atop of him. She tried to slam her dirk into him, but the blade caught in his chainmail and did all too little damage. He managed to pull her arm and dragged her off him. She clattered against some weak struts, but her steel took the brunt of the hit.

  “Easy, lass!” the bearded guard called out as he ran to his friend’s side. “You’re outnumbered. Don’t do anything daft.”

  She struggled to her feet, clenching her ribs through the steel plate. She drew her spear silently into her left hand as the shard of oak remained in her right.

  “Nobody wants to hurt you,” the eldest guard said. “Just put down the spear and talk to us... What’s your name?”

  Ash didn’t reply. She looked at the men and considered her options. She didn’t know if she could beat three men at her best, let alone with one hand.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ash thought. “Whether or not I can beat them... I must beat them.”

  She brought her right hand to her mouth and bit down hard on the wood, dragging it roughly through her palm. She barely winced as it tore through the flesh and muscle. Her eyes never wavered from the guards and her spear never moved from her side.

  “Just... calm down, okay? You’re hurt, not thinking straight. Take a breath and it’s all going to be okay,” the eldest guard said. He lowered himself slightly and pointed the tip of his halberd far away from Ash. It was supposed to be a signal of kindness, a way to make her feel less cornered. All it did was make him an easier first target.

  She slid her thumb over the small rune at the shaft of Ser Stabby. The tip burst forth and buried itself in his thigh. She whipped it back using its chain and drenched it in her own blood as she handled it with both hands.

  The guard screamed, loudly. Much too loudly. Soon enough the building would be crawling with his ilk. She had to fight quickly.

  Ash dove forth while the elder was still reeling from his injury. Her spear ran for his throat, but his partner’s halberd intercepted the strike. The two polearms danced along each other's lengths, but Ash used her steel hand to grasp the blade of his while her own slashed across his face.

  Even through the unnatural steel, catching the slash sent an agonising shock through her arm, but it soon settled, and she was ready to strike again.

  The bearded guard had lost a chunk of his nose in her last strike, but he was far from finished, unlike his elderly compatriot. The old man could barely stand as he discarded his polearm and drew a secondary short sword.

  To be fair to the old man, his strike was impressively fast, but Ash had a few new tricks that he couldn’t have prepared for.

  A disk of oily black steel sprouted from her gauntlet; a small, jagged and dangerous shield. The blade clinked pointlessly off it, and Ash rounded against him with her spear held short. This time, his chainmail didn’t save him. She simply placed too much force against him. The spear tip tore into him, while the two blade catchers pinned into him, though they didn’t break through the mail.

  She dragged the spear back without ceremony and slammed the rear of its shaft into the bearded guard’s belly. A spurt of blood followed it out of the old man as he fell, dying, on the floor.

  Her strike forced the bearded guard to keel forward, where she landed her right elbow beneath his jaw and knocked him to the ground.

  It would have slowed her down to kill him, so instead she barrelled towards the stalwart guard blocking the doorway. She held her spear high above her head, so he didn’t notice when she threw her dirk with her lowered left hand into his wrist. She wrapped around, pulling his halberd from his grip before sinking the clawed knuckles of her gauntlet into his throat.

  All three lay, dead or dying, and she didn’t feel so far from them. Every breath burnt like the fires she planned to light. Her head went so light she mustn't have taken a single breath during the entire fight, living on adrenaline in place of oxygen.

  She propped herself up on her spear but nearly slipped down. She had bled so much that the silver steel had grown crimson. The shaft was so slicked with her blood that she struggled to keep it gripped as she mounted it back in her sheath.

  It wasn’t far now. A stone's throw, if her right arm was in any condition to throw. She had to get a little closer. Close enough that there would be no way for her to hide. All the buildings around it had already been demolished, there would be no cover at all. She could charge in, hope to catch them by surprise and throw it before they could think to stop her... or.

  Bleeding, limping and barely breathing, Ash sauntered along the last stretch of street. She walked with purpose and dignity. Each time her boot fell, the dirt was grateful to be a part of her story. She stepped, one foot at a time, past guards and warriors and nobodies. None dared to even look at her. Those few that did, averted their gaze quickly and crumbled beneath her imperious glare. Though sullied with blood and death, she marched like a queen, and all who stood before her bowed.

  The gatehouse was a breath away and only one, young, guard stood before her. He her entry with an inexpertly grasped blade.

  “Halt,” he squeaked.

  “Move aside,” she whispered.

  “State your business,” he barked, though his quivering voice sounded closer to a kitten’s meow than a wolf’s growl.

  “No,” she answered. “Move or die.”

  “Are you... a knight?”

  “No, I’m a Champion.

  “W- Why are you bleeding?”

  “Because I’ve just killed three soldiers. Shall we make it four?”

  “You- You killed the Forgelanders... Right?” The boy said with a begging tone.

  “What do you think?” Ash scoffed.

  “Right...” the boy sniffed. “Apologies, Champion, of course.”

  He finally stepped aside, and Ash slowly limped up the stairs without a trace of visible worry. Three archers lounged within, but all stood to attention as she limped in.

  “Erm, my lady!” the leader stammered. “Can we help you?”

  “I’m here to start a fire,” Ash said tiredly. The blood loss had begun to drain her energy rapidly.

  “A- Fire? For our arrows?” the leader guessed.

  “Your arrows will probably burn too, aye. Which of these controls opens the gate?”

  “I- What? Who are you?” the leader asked.

  “I’m the Champion of Black,” Ash answered simply. “Now which of these do I open?”

  “I- You cannot be serious? How did you get in here?”

  “I killed all the other guards. It's just you three left,” she lied. “Now, shall we open the gate, or do I have to finish the job?”

  “I... You lie!” the leader shouted.

  “Mhmm,” Ash grunted. In a single, swift action, she brought her dirk to his throat. His two subordinates proved less than courageous after the sight. One knelt while the other fell. Ash nodded to the great wheel that held the gate up and they both quickly unshackled the gate, allowing it to fall open.

  “Thank you,” Ash sighed as a horde of soldiers marched up to the gatehouse. She pulled free the powder pouch and found a little fuse within. “Who wants to live forever?”

  The men screamed as she lit the pouch and cast it to the doors. It spread quickly, consuming the wooden ramparts and corridors in which the soldiers charged. Ash dove out of the window, crashing into the open dust, surrounded by a small army.

  The breeze sliced her back and she knew what it meant. The gates were open, and the battle was beginning.